


Out of the Ashes

by BrunetteAuthorette99



Series: Heroine Without Honor [3]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Character Study, Gen, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-02-14 15:54:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2197779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrunetteAuthorette99/pseuds/BrunetteAuthorette99
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the course of a terrifying and tragic night, Babette's world is turned upside-down as the fate of the Dark Brotherhood hangs in the balance. As she attempts to pick up the pieces of her life, she finds that there is much more to the Listener than meets the eye. </p><p>Sequel to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/2188419"><em>A Twisted Sort of Sister.</em></a> Takes place before <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/2301317/chapters/5062256"><em>The Bear and the Wolf.</em></a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Inferno

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, more transplants from FF.net - how did you know?
> 
> Anyway, I'd been toying with the idea of writing a sequel to _A Twisted Sort of Sister_ for a bit, and after some reviewers suggested I should do just that, my mind was made up. So here it is.

****It was the fire that she’d seen first, the shadows of the flames licking at the walls of the tunnels. Then it was the crash of collapsing stone and timbers, the Sanctuary’s death rattles. Then it were the voices: rough and angry and unfamiliar. The clang of steel against steel and the last cries of the dying. Gabriella’s gasps of pain, Veezara’s hisses, Arnbjorn’s enraged roars... they had all faded as their spirits left for the Void.

Silence. The music of life and the herald of death.

Never before, in all of her centuries upon Nirn, had Babette felt so scared and helpless. All she could do was crouch in the watery, cobweb-shrouded pit that once housed her beloved frostbite spider, shivering like the vulnerable child she used to be, and wait: for the end, for someone – friend or foe – to come for her.

The rocky bottom of the pool shook under her feet and the stagnant water rippled with the force of another section of the ceiling crashing somewhere. Startled, the vampire fell back on her behind with a splash. Mentally cursing herself for her clumsiness and her inability to remain quiet, she crouched and dove under the stairway, curling up into a tight little ball with her arms wrapped tightly around her knees.

 _If they get me, they’ll throw me to the flames. I hate fire, I hate fire, I_ hate _fire,_ she chanted over and over in her head, rocking back and forth in fright. _I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die. I’m just a little girl. Someone please,_ please _help me!_

Not for the first time that day, Babette wondered if anyone was still alive. _Gabriella’s gone, Veezara’s gone, Arnbjorn’s gone. Lis, Festus, too, and Cicero long before. Gone, gone, gone, they’re all gone._

 _Nazir, Astrid, where are you? Are you still alive? Kajsa, don’t come back! They’ll kill you and me and burn our bones!_ Terrified tears streamed down her face, blurring her vision.

Suddenly, there was a thunderous crash, and on the opposite wall, the fire’s shadows leaped high for one final time and then died. Trembling, the vampire lifted her head and then ducked it again as a smattering of pebbles rained through the gaps in the stairs and down on her hair; a boulder rolled off the top and crashed beside her. She whimpered pitifully and covered her head in an attempt at protection.

A new, horrifying thought occurred to her. _What if no one ever finds me and I’m trapped in here forever? Never able to feed again?_ Her mouth grew dry at the thought. _Would death be a mercy compared to that?_

“Babette?” Nazir’s deep voice, now hoarse from the smoke, sounded somewhere from the tunnel. “Where are you, my girl?”

For the first time that day, hope fluttered in her heart. “I’m here! I’m here!” she screamed loudly, abandoning all pretense of being brave. “I’m trapped under the stairs!”

Footsteps echoed on the cave floor above and then down the lashed-together wooden logs, stopping at the bottom. Now Babette could see his boots; for some reason, the sight of the scuffed, sun-baked leather comforted her slightly.

“Don’t worry. I’ll get you out.” With a strained grunt, the boulder rolled away as more of the Redguard came into view. He kept pushing against the fallen rock, and after a few moments of struggling on his part, the boulder splashed into the water.

Nazir crouched down and extended a hand to her. The vampire grabbed it, and he dragged her out from her hiding place underneath the stairs.

With a little cry, Babette flung her arms around him and hugged him tightly, not wanting to let go. “The others – did you see –?” she sobbed into his shoulder.

The Redguard gently lifted her up, striding back up the stairs with her in his arms. “Unfortunately, yes. Kajsa told me that we were betrayed, but she’s not sure by whom.”

“Kajsa’s alive? You saw her?” Suddenly hopeful again, the vampire wriggled out of his lean arms and hopped to the floor.

“She’s the only reason I’m still kicking.” Nazir touched his bloody shoulder and winced. “We tried to find a way out of the Sanctuary before it fell apart, but... I don’t think she made it.”

“No. No.” Babette shook her head, lip quivering. “Kajsa’s not dead. She can’t be. She has to be around here somewhere!”

Shaking his head, Nazir fell into a chair, exhausted. “What other alternative is there? Most of us are dead, my girl. We’re the only ones left alive.”

Miserable again, Babette crumpled to her knees, eyes welling up with tears. _Kajsa – sister, oh, my sister – you’ve got to be alive – you’ve just_ got _to be – you’re a survivor –_

Suddenly, a thought came to her. “Nazir... she’s the Listener.”

The Redguard gave her a slightly disparaging look. “I know that. We _all_ knew that.”

“But the Night Mother talks to her, right? So maybe the Unholy Matron guided Kajsa to safety somewhere!” Babette leapt to her feet, brushing off her dusty skirts. “Where did you last see her? When?”

“By Sithis, I don’t remember,” Nazir said irritably. “One of these hallways... they all look the same when they’re burning and falling to bits.”

Without further ado, the vampire turned on her heel and ran from the room, stumbling down the stairs to the dining hall, and then sprinted across the room and back up another set of stairs to the stone overlook.

The Redguard followed behind her. “Babette? Where are you going?”

“I think I know where Kajsa is!” she shouted as she ran through a doorway and into a low-ceilinged, blackened hallway, her voice echoing strangely in the empty, ruined Sanctuary. Turning a corner, and then another one, she burst into the small, private chamber.

Like the rest of the Dark Brotherhood’s former hideout, it had been wrecked by the invaders. Rubble lay strewn on the floor and the shelves that had been up against the wall had fallen over. The circular stained-glass window depicting Sithis, the one she had loved so much, lay shattered in little pieces of colored glass on the floor. The Night Mother’s coffin seemed to be the only thing left unscathed – but the way to it was blocked by some fallen boulders.

Nazir leaned against the doorway, panting with the effort that the running had taken on his injured body. “You... think she’s in here?”

“Yes! I know it sounds odd, but...” The vampire wrung her hands piteously. “... Can you _please_ move some of the debris around the coffin?”

Nazir stared at her in disbelief, then just shook his head, walked over to the mess, and started to kick aside some of the smaller rocks. Leaning against the biggest of the boulders, he applied all his force against it, but only succeeded in moving it a little ways.

“Hurry, Nazir!” Babette cried. “I’m telling you, she _is_ in there! If she suffocates...” Her voice trailed off into a little moan.

“I’m going... as fast... as I can, you stupid she-devil,” the Redguard retorted through gritted teeth. “I don’t see you... helping...” He suddenly staggered and nearly lost his balance as the boulder gave way.

“I’m not exactly built for manual labor,” the vampire sniffed. “Now, come on: you’ve almost got it!”

Nazir straightened up and then, with a disparaging look at her, began to push aside the other large rock barring the entrance. “One... more...” With a grunt, he heaved it aside. “There.”

“Can you get it open?” Babette asked timidly.

“I think so. Just hold on a moment.” The Redguard took a moment to catch his breath, and then dug his fingers behind the elaborate metal door and pulled with all the strength he had left.

With a creaking of hinges, the doors opened wide. Hands planted firmly on either side of the curved walls to keep her upright, a sooty, bloodied Kajsa stared out at them with dark eyes.

“Sister!” The vampire ran for her, throwing her arms around the Listener’s legs and hugging her tightly. “You’re alive!”

“Thank – _someone_ that you found me.” Her voice sounded even hoarser than normal. “I don’t think I could have lasted much longer in there.” Gently prying Babette away, Kajsa staggered out of the Night Mother’s coffin, coughing violently.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down.” Nazir grabbed her shoulders, stopping her from falling. She clung to him for support, and he patted her on the back in what Babette judged to be a rare show of affection. “It’s all right. You’ve been through a lot. Maybe you should just sit down for a bit...?”

Kajsa shook her head weakly and forced herself upright, letting go of the Redguard. “I’ve had worse. And the Night Mother has another task for me.”

“She spoke to you?” When she nodded, he continued. “Well, in that case, lead on. I’m right behind you.”

“Me, too,” Babette chimed in. “What do you have to do?”

“I have to speak with Astrid. She’s here, in the Sanctuary... somewhere.”

“She’s here?” Nazir echoed in incredulity. “By Sithis, I thought we’d lost her! Let’s go!”

The Listener turned away and clambered over some fallen boulders that partially barred one of the entrances. Her footsteps clattered down the stairs, then stopped abruptly. The vampire heard her mutter some curse words under her breath and then shout: “ _FUS – ROH DAH!”_

There was a massive crash and then Kajsa continued on. The other assassins rapidly followed her down the narrow corridor of stairs, past the splintered boulders that had formerly blocked the end of the passageway and into the vast main cavern, and then up the stairs that led to the first chamber in the cave system. It had been burned as well, the spotless shelves and the bone-white table charred beyond repair.

“She’s got to be here somewhere!” Babette cried. _Sithis, please let Astrid be alive, too..._

“Perhaps in her rooms.” The Listener skirted the ruined furniture and the other wreckage, and she entered the next chamber, scanning it for any sign of life. Suddenly, she paused, her face drawn and even paler than it had been before.

“What is it, Listener?” Nazir asked, one hand on his scimitar in case of trouble.

Solemnly, Kajsa stepped into the last room. It was ringed with furniture crumbling into ashes, embers of the fire still crackling and smoke hanging in the air. In the very center of the floor, within a ring of flickering candles and beside the fallen Blade of Woe and an iron dagger soaked in nightshade juice, Astrid’s burned body lay: limbs splayed and blackened, raw muscles exposed.

The vampire gasped in horror and clung to the Redguard. Mouth tight and standing still, the older man placed a heavy hand on her shoulder. Together, they lingered outside, not willing to go any further.

“Alive...” Astrid coughed, her once-smooth voice now scratchy and distressed. “You’re alive... thank Sithis...”

Face pained, Kajsa knelt by the leader of the Sanctuary’s side. “Oh, Astrid...”

“Shh... please. There is much... I have to say. And... not much time.” As if to confirm her words, the other broke into a fit of coughing that shook her body, then carried on weakly. “I’m sorry. So very sorry. The Penitus Oculatus... Maro... he said that by giving you to them, he would leave the Dark Brotherhood alone. Forever.”

Babette’s eyes widened. _Astrid –_ she _was the traitor? She –_ she’s _the reason that everyone’s dead? That the Sanctuary’s destroyed?_

“By Sithis, I was such a fool. All of this... it’s all my fault.” Astrid’s voice was full of regret. “You are the best of us, and I nearly killed you... as I’ve killed everyone else...”

Kajsa’s face was hollow with grief, and when she spoke, her voice was quiet. “You will be judged by Sithis in the Void.” She reached out to the nearly-dead woman and touched her hand. “I... I pity you.”

“No!” the other rasped. “ _Don’t_ pity me. I deserve whatever fate the Dread Lord has in store. I betrayed you... and now Maro has betrayed me. Fitting...” She tried to laugh, but it turned into a peal of coughing. “I just wanted things... to stay the way they were. Before Cicero, before the Night Mother. Before... you. I thought I could save us. I was wrong.

“But you’re alive... so there’s still a chance. A chance to start over, rebuild. That’s why I did... _this_. Don’t you see?” she croaked desperately. “I prayed to the Night Mother. _I_ am the Black Sacrament.”

Kajsa frowned, her eyes suddenly grim. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you were right. The Night Mother was right. The old ways... they guided the Dark Brotherhood for centuries. I was a fool to oppose them.

“And to prove my... sincerity, I have prayed for a contract. _You_ lead this Family now. I give you the Blade of Woe, so that you can see it through. You must kill... me.”

The Listener looked as if she’d been struck: upset and unbelieving. “Astrid, I –”

“Do it, Listener,” Astrid pleaded. “Kill me.”

“Astrid did the right thing, and now it’s your turn,” Nazir said quietly, his deep voice grave. “End her suffering.”

Slowly, Kajsa lifted up the burned woman’s head and cradled it in her lap. With her free hand, she drew Mehrunes’ Razor from its scabbard on her belt. Babette wanted so badly to cover her eyes, to bury her face in Nazir’s tunic, anything _but_ watch the killing... but it was if she was frozen in place.

“I... forgive you, Astrid,” the Listener whispered, her voice low and aching, “even after all you’ve done. I thank you for making me a member of your Family, and I hope that you will find some peace in the Void.” With those final words, she drew the Daedric dagger across the woman’s throat in a straight, precise line, her face like stone.

Astrid’s body slackened and she stopped breathing at last.

Babette tried not to cry, but the tears came before she could stop them. Letting go of Nazir, she stumbled away, rubbing her eyes in a vain attempt to quell them.

“Babette...” Kajsa’s broken voice called to her. “Babette...”

Sobbing harder than ever, the vampire fled. _Gone. Astrid’s gone._

_My Family is gone._

 


	2. Illusions

By the softly rippling pool in the main cavern of the Sanctuary, Babette sat cross-legged among the broken fragments of the boulders that had once blocked the stairway to the Night Mother’s chambers, quietly braiding her hair in an attempt to amuse herself. Not for the first time, she wondered exactly _how_ Kajsa had blown them apart like this; it seemed too powerful to be mere destruction magic.

At the thought of the Listener, the vampire’s gloomy mood only worsened. She understood why Astrid had to die; even if she hadn’t performed the Black Sacrament, their leader had still done the inexcusable and betrayed the Family. But deep in her heart, the little ten-year-old girl in her mourned the loss of her surrogate mother – and blamed Kajsa for taking her.

Last night, as soon as Masser and Secunda were high overhead, the three assassins had built a funeral pyre on the grassy knoll above the Black Door and burned the bodies of the dead members of the Dark Brotherhood. The corpses of the Penitus Oculatus they’d thrown in a ditch by the roadside. All the while, they’d remained silent, not entirely willing to speak to one another.

Babette had imagined that it was because she and Nazir had not wanted to confront Kajsa. She knew that while the Redguard mourned the loss of his brothers and sisters, he’d also hoped that one day, Astrid would pass on her badge of office to him.

 _I’d like that better,_ she thought sourly, perfectly content to throw her centuries of wisdom out the window in order to indulge in childish pity and jealousy. _He’d like that better. Even though she_ is _the Listener,_ _he’s been here_ much _longer than Kajsa, anyway._

“Astrid... by the sands... I still can’t believe it,” Nazir’s voice rumbled nearby.

The vampire scooted further behind the boulders; she hadn’t realized that he was so close by. _He must be near the Night Mother’s coffin._

After the funeral, the three of them had managed to move the coffin to the waterside for easier access. It had taken a lot of brawn and a good deal of pushing in order to clear the cramped stairway, but they had all tersely agreed that it was worth it.

“If the ceiling up there should cave in like the rest of the chambers,” the Redguard had said with a trace of black humor, “I’m not sure I’m up to go digging through rocks again in search of it. The Unholy Matron will be staying there for good.”

Light footsteps sounded nearby and Babette double-checked to make sure that she was well-hidden behind her makeshift wall of rubble.

“Neither can I,” Kajsa agreed, her voice sounding hoarser than usual. “It was... it was a blow.”

 _Not for you!_ the vampire wanted to shout. _You’re the Listener! And you’re our leader now! You had everything to gain by killing Astrid!_

“By Sithis, what a mess,” Nazir sighed. “I never imagined the Brotherhood coming to an end like this.”

“Not exactly. The Night Mother has spoken to me again.”

“What?” He sounded surprised, but then reverted back to his usual business-like self. “Well, what did she say?”

“I must speak with Amaund Motierre once more.”

A startled Babette recognized the familiar name. _The Breton nobleman who wanted the Emperor killed? So... does the Unholy Matron..._

Apparently, the Redguard drew the same conclusion as she had. “Amaund Motierre? But that would mean –”

“Yes. The contract is still on. The _true_ Emperor _must_ be assassinated.” The Listener’s voice had turned chilling and cold.

“You mean... there’s still a chance? But how?” Nazir objected. “Our plan has gone to ruin, everyone is dead, the Family...”

“Our Family _will_ live on, Nazir,” Kajsa said quietly, her tone now lacking the sudden venom it had before. “You have to trust me.”

There was a long silence before the other assassin finally responded. “All right, then. Go. Go, my Listener. Find out what that slimy bastard Motierre has to say, then send the Emperor to Sithis. For the Family.”

“I fully intend to.” Her footsteps began to carry her away.

“Ah, but – when you’re done,” Nazir called after her, stopping the Listener in her tracks, “there’s no use returning here, is there? I was thinking... the Dawnstar Sanctuary. We could make a proper home there.”

Kajsa laughed, the first time Babette had heard her do so since leaving for Solitude. “It could use some renovations, but yes, you’re right. It would be a lovely home.”

“Then it’s settled. When you’re finished with this Emperor business, meet Babette and me there. I’ll find some way to move the Night Mother; don’t worry about that.”

“All right. And once you get to the Black Door, the passphrase is ‘innocence, my brother.’ I imagine that you’ll be needing it; winter nights up north are rather frosty.”

“Yes, the way in _would_ be helpful,” Nazir remarked wryly. “Now go! And... come back with a barrel full of gold, hmm?”

“Nothing less. I have a feeling that we’ll need it.” With that, the Listener was gone, her footsteps echoing on the stone steps up to the Black Door.

Nazir clapped his hands together. “Babette, my girl – pack your things. We’re moving. And _don’t_ think I didn’t know you were eavesdropping,” he added.

“Me?” The vampire popped up from behind the boulders. “I was just sitting here.”

“Right,” the Redguard said sardonically. “It’s a terrible habit to get into, you know.”

“No one’s ever minded before,” she pouted.

He just smiled indulgently at her, ruffling her hair as she slunk past him. “Get ready to leave. I’ll go out and see if the Penitus Oculatus’ cart and horses are still there. It’s a long way to Dawnstar, and I don’t relish the prospect of dragging the Night Mother’s coffin on foot.”

 

Illuminated by the moonlight, the sturdy wooden cart trundled along the snowy road, towed by a shaggy, dappled horse. In the driver’s seat, Nazir held the reins with one hand and kept the other on the hilt of his scimitar, eyes scanning his surroundings.

Curled up against the crate that protected the Night Mother’s coffin in a woolen blanket, Babette took _another_ inventory of the items she had in her knapsack. It honestly wasn’t much: just her little squirreled-away stashes of septims and rare alchemy ingredients, a few poisons, and a change of clothes. And, even though it wouldn’t fit into her bag, the Wabbajack.

Now bored again, she lifted her head to address Nazir. “Are we there yet?”

The Redguard groaned at her irritating question. “For the fiftieth time, _no_.”

“Are we _close_?”

“Fairly. We should be on the outskirts of Dawnstar soon.”

Satisfied with his answer, Babette picked up the Daedric artifact propped up against the huge crate and rolled it between her hands, staring at the alternating faces that crowned the staff.

Nazir noticed her actions. “Would you mind telling me what that ungodly thing is?”

“You don’t know?”

“Am I supposed to? You forget, my girl, that not all of us had as much time for reading fairy tales and legends as you did.”

The vampire ignored his sarcasm. “It’s the Wabbajack, one of the artifacts of Sheogorath, Daedric Prince of Madness. The blast has an unpredictable effect. Kajsa gave it to me.” The name sounded slightly bitter in her mouth.

Nazir raised an eyebrow. “And I thought our Listener was possessed of good sense. Can you _please_ put it away, now? It gives me the shivers.”

Grudgingly, Babette propped it back up against the crate and then crawled to the front, propping up her arms on the backrest and resting her chin on them. “Nazir?”

“What is it, my girl? And if you’re going to ask if we’re there yet, the answer’s no – but we are _very_ close.”

The torches of Dawnstar guards flickered in the distance. With a few clicks of his tongue and a tug on the reins, the Redguard guided the horse off the road and onto a barely beaten-down path winding downhill through sparse trees.

“Are you mad that Kajsa is the leader of the Family and not you?”

Nazir looked over at her rather sharply. “Why would you think that?”

The vampire cringed slightly. “It’s just that... you’ve been with the Dark Brotherhood a long time. You were kind of like Astrid’s second-in-command...”

“Traditionally, it is the Listener who leads the Family. I’m surprised that you remain ignorant of that, even after all that time spent with your nose in a book.” The Redguard’s scathing tone softened slightly. “Before Kajsa, it is true that leadership would have gone to me in all likelihood, but it is not the case now.”

“So... you’re _not_ jealous?” Babette frowned in confusion.

Nazir shook his head, smiling slightly. “Handing out contracts is easy. Running the Dark Brotherhood is a hard job, and you can see how it ruined Astrid. Fortunately, Kajsa seems up for the task.” He glanced at her. “However, she still needs the support of _both_ of us.”

The vampire reddened slightly. “How did you –?”

“I know you miss Astrid. I do as well. But, as cruel as it sounds, she brought her death upon herself when she betrayed us.” His tone was firm as he placed a hand on the little girl’s shoulder and looked her in the eye. “Honor thy family, my girl. Our Listener is not to blame. She did what had to be done, and it took its own toll on her, same as you.”

Babette nodded, biting her lip.

“Good.” Nazir brought his hand back to the reins and jerked the horse to a halt. “We’re here. I can see the Black Door.”

Scrambling to her feet, the vampire gripped the rail and took in the sights around her. The cart had stopped by a rocky outcropping on the coast. To her right, a small stretch of gray, barren ground scattered with low-growing shrubs met the frigid sea waters. To her left, underneath the snowy boulders hanging over it and flanked by some nightshade plants, was the Black Door: completely identical to the one on the Falkreath Sanctuary.

“It’s spooky here.” Babette leaped down from the back of the cart. “I kind of like it.”

“Entirely too cold for my taste,” the Redguard remarked critically, clambering down as well and scanning the surroundings. “But as long as the interior isn’t too damp –” He stopped suddenly, frowning into the distance with one hand shielding his eyes from the falling snow. “Is that... _Shadowmere?_ ”

“Astrid’s horse?” Curious, the vampire peered down the shoreline. The vague form of a monstrous stallion, a rider on its back and dragging something large and unwieldy behind it, was galloping towards them. As it drew closer, she heard snatches of song floating on the wind:

“ _...Ho-ho-ho, and hee-hee-hee!_

_Break that lute across my knee!_

_And if the bard should choose to fight,_

_Why, then I’ll set his clothes alight!”_

“Dear Sithis, _please_ tell me that’s _not_ who I think it is,” Nazir groaned.

Babette felt her face split into a wide grin and she took off running towards Shadowmere, waving her arms. “Cicero! Cicero, it’s us! _Cicero!_ ”

Seeing her, the Keeper abruptly reined in the black stallion, and it whinnied and reared a bit before coming to a complete stop. Now that she was closer, the vampire could see that it was a dead horker, one end of a thick rope lashed around around its neck and the other end tied to Shadowmere’s saddle, that had been dragged.

“The un-child? And the Redguard? And the Night Mother, too?” Cicero practically leaped off the horse’s back and did a little jig before striding over to the vampire and hugging her tightly. “Oh, happy, _happy_ day!” He giggled madly, swinging a slightly startled Babette around before setting her down.

“It’s good to see you, too, Cicero,” Babette said weakly, suddenly remembering why he got on her nerves sometimes. “But... how are you still alive?”

“Kind, thoughtful, merciful Listener spared poor Cicero’s life and told that trollop Astrid that sly Cicero was _dead!_ ” The Keeper was practically hopping up and down with glee. “And now you and the Redguard and the wonderful Listener and our sweet Mother and humble Cicero are all together – what is it? Nothing I said, I hope?” he questioned fretfully, seeing the dark looks on the other assassins’ faces at his unflattering description of Astrid.

Nazir sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Never mind. Why were you thundering around on Shadowmere with a dead horker behind you?”

“Oh, eager Cicero is glad that the Redguard asked! You see, poor, sad Listener wanted faithful Cicero to exercise her scary horse –”

Babette broke him off. “Kajsa’s already here?”

“Silly un-child,” Cicero sniffed, “it’s rude to interrupt. Yes, moody, depressed Listener is here – _inside_ the Sanctuary, of course – it’s far, _far_ too cold out here for miserable, frostbitten Cicero –”

“Get on with it,” the Redguard said impatiently.

The Keeper gave him a sulky look before continuing. “So, loyal Cicero is galloping up and down the coast when the stupid, fat horker attacks Shadowmere!” He gave the carcass a few good kicks for emphasis. “But the Listener’s proud horse does not care and runs right over the beast!

“But cunning Cicero gets to thinking. Horker meat is a delicacy not to be wasted! So smart, bright Cicero returns to the Sanctuary, gets a nice long rope, and hauls the creature back!” He cackled again at his own cleverness. “Now we can _all_ have succulent, juicy, bloody horker meat for a nice, late supper!”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t kill us,” Nazir commented darkly, tramping back to the wagon. “Cicero, come and help me with the Night Mother’s coffin. Babette, get the door open. The password is –”

“I already know it.” Leaving the other assassins behind, woolen blanket still around her shoulders, the vampire skipped over under the rocky overhang and placed one tiny hand on the very center of the Black Door.

“ _What is life’s greatest illusion?_ ” the whistling, hissing voice rasped.

“Innocence, my brother,” Babette answered softly. _Innocence, indeed._

“ _Welcome home._ ”

 


	3. A New Dawn

The Dawnstar Sanctuary, unlike the one in Falkreath, was less a system of caves and more of an underground, abandoned bandit fortress – sturdy stone walls, covered with moss; high-ceilinged, spacious rooms; a little, fenced-off patch of earth that was just perfect for a potential garden. Babette had decided that she rather liked it. _We should have moved to Dawnstar_ ages _ago._

Fiddling with the sleeve of her dress, she lounged about the main entrance, blowing the dust off some shelves. Cicero was humming a strange tune to himself and obsessively polishing the Night Mother’s coffin; he had been doing so ever since the three of them had moved all of the contents of the cart into the Sanctuary. Last time she’d checked, a scowling Nazir was in the main hall and attempting to roast the horker meat over the grand fireplace, but thus far, he had only succeeded in burning it slightly.

... And there was _still_ no sign of Kajsa.

“Cicero?” she asked, tentatively approaching the stone dais where the Night Mother’s coffin stood. “Are you sure that Kajsa is here?”

“Sure as sure can be! Poor Listener is just tired and sad, hiding away somewhere deep and dark. She’ll come out for delicious, succulent horker stew soon enough!” The Keeper chortled and did a little twirl, then stopped and sniffed the air. With a horrified look on his face, he rushed to the edge of the overlook. “Did the Redguard – _burn_ supper?”

“When it comes to cooking, I’m hardly the Gourmet,” Nazir shot back witheringly from down below. “But never fear: there’s still plenty of meat for all of us.”

“Bother and befuddle!” Cicero wailed petulantly, falling to the floor and banging it with his fists like a child with a tantrum. “Now gloomy Listener will never come out!”

“Cicero,” Babette attempted, “where’s Kajsa? And why is she not appearing?”

The Keeper’s eyes darted about, almost as if he was worried about invisible eavesdroppers, and then glanced up at the vampire. “The Listener is... not herself,” he whispered worriedly.

“How so?” Babette seated herself beside him.

“Ever since the Listener returned from Solitude, she’s cooped herself up in her quarters – deep, deep in the Sanctuary – and not come out! Not even _once_!” Cicero sounded more hysterical by the minute. “Anxious, concerned Cicero tries and tries to draw her out, but nothing pathetic Cicero does _works_!”

Babette tapped her chin, trying to work out where this was leading. “So... you thought some horker stew would be the key.”

“Yes, oh, yes!” The Keeper nodded emphatically, smiling brightly. “Warm and raw and bloody! That’s how Listener likes her meat! She won’t be able to resist, not after musty apples and doughy bread for days upon days! Considerate Cicero brings food to her, you see – but I don’t think starving Listener even _eats_ it!”

The vampire cut him off with another question. “How exactly _is_ Kajsa acting?”

Cicero’s face fell, disconsolate again. “The Listener is... silent. Isolated, lonely Listener stares at the wall and does not speak much to worried Cicero.” He inched a little closer and his voice dropped. “I think poor Listener is having nightmares, too. Her screams... they echo and echo until wide-awake Cicero comes to wake her from restless sleep.”

Babette’s eyes went wider than ever upon hearing this. She felt suddenly guilty about avoiding Kajsa. “Do you know what she’s dreaming about?”

“No, not at all. Stubborn Listener does not confide in alarmed Cicero.”

“So you have no idea why she’s behaving this way,” Babette said, defeated.

“Absolutely none.” The Keeper hung his head in shame. “Brainless Cicero has no ideas.”

There was a silence between the two assassins for a moment – until Cicero leaped to his feet, smelling the air again. Babette followed his lead hesitantly, half-expecting to get a whiff of burned horker meat, but was instead pleasantly surprised by a delicious aroma.

“Dinner’s ready,” Nazir grudgingly called up.

Cicero let out a delighted giggle and barreled down the stairs, the vampire on his tail. The Redguard was ladling some stew into a few cracked china bowls that he and Babette had salvaged from the Falkreath Sanctuary and was setting them out on the hearth. Scooping up his portion, the Keeper retreated to the stairs and began to heartily tuck in.

Babette reached for a bowl; even though nothing could beat the taste of fresh blood, the stew looked incredibly delicious. _Besides, I’ve always had a soft spot for human food – especially a good, hearty stew._ “Is there enough?”

“Enough for Kajsa if she ever decides to show up? Yes,” Nazir answered exasperatedly, sticking the lid back on the mismatched cooking pot.

“I should hope so,” came a familiar voice from the far doorway.

All three assassins’ heads whipped around. Kajsa was leaning against the wall, dressed in a simple shirt and trousers with a tired smile on her face.

“Kajsa!” The vampire made a dash for the Listener, throwing her skinny arms around her legs. Much to her relief, she received a hug in return. _She’s not mad at me. My sister’s not mad at me._

“Listener!” Cicero squealed happily, bouncing up and down in his seat. “Listener is no longer depressed and silent and grim, and Listener is joining us for supper! Overjoyed Cicero is so glad, he could burst!”

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” Nazir said sardonically. “Here’s your stew.”

“Thank you.” Kajsa untangled herself from Babette and accepted the steaming hot bowl, sitting down on the hearth. “I was getting hungry.”

The four of them settled down and ate quietly. For a few minutes, only the scraping of spoons and Cicero’s noisy slurping could be heard. The vampire was pleased to find that, despite the somewhat different taste, the broth of horker stew had roughly the same consistency as blood; in her opinion, the chunks of meat weren’t bad, either.

Then: “What word of the Emperor?” Nazir placed his empty bowl by his side.

The Listener swallowed her mouthful of soup and turned her gaze to him. “Titus Mede II is dead by my hand.”

“Truly?”

She nodded, eyes dark with an emotion that Babette didn’t recognize.

“Could you have brought us more wondrous news? Recent events notwithstanding, this is a happy day for us, my friend.” In good cheer, he clapped Kajsa on the back. “Despite your misfortunes, you stayed true to the Dark Brotherhood. You’ve saved us all, and for that, you have my eternal thanks.”

“Hear, hear,” the vampire echoed happily.

“A toast to the great and powerful Listener!” Cicero burbled through a gulp of stew.

Nazir waved them away, but he was smiling as he did so. “Now, of course I _must_ ask... killing the Emperor... how much did Motierre pay for such a thing?”

Kajsa grinned a little, looking very different from the cold, deathly serious woman that Babette last saw her as. “Twenty thousand septims.”

“Ha! Remarkable!” the Redguard exclaimed, his laughter booming. “Well, the old bastard certainly made it worth your while, didn’t he? Are you sure he didn’t have any more contracts to give you after that?”

The Listener laughed, a sly look in her eyes. “Oh, no. Gave me the location of the drop and took off as soon as I gave him the news. Apparently, he wants nothing more to do with us.”

“Shame.” Nazir shook his head, then turned to Kajsa again. “Now, might I offer some advice? You should go to Riften and find Delvin Mallory. I believe Astrid had you visit him once before...?” His voice trailed off into a question.

“That is correct. But I was already acquainted with him.”

Babette frowned over her bowl of stew. _Delvin Mallory... I feel like I’ve heard that name before, but where?_

“Regardless of _how_ you know him, Mallory is an ‘expert obtainer of goods,’ as he puts it. I was thinking that we could use the money to repair and refit this Sanctuary. Make a true home for us, hmm?”

Kajsa leaned back, examining the room with a critical eye. “Now that you mention it, the Sanctuary probably _would_ benefit from a few homey touches...”

The Redguard laughed again; the vampire couldn’t recall the last time she’d seen him in such high spirits. “You do that, Listener, and I’ll see what I can do about recruiting some new additions to our Family.”

“New recruits?” Picking up her soup bowl from her lap, the Listener peered at him. “You already have people in mind?”

“Before her death, Astrid kept tabs on those that had the potential to become Dark Brotherhood members,” Nazir explained. “I recovered some of her notes from the Falkreath Sanctuary, and I believe that I can track at least two of them down.”

“I can help if you’d like.”

“No, no. _You_ need to head to Riften as soon as possible.”

“At once!” Cicero agreed emphatically. “Sore, cramped Cicero does not like sleeping on cold stone floors!”

“I’ll leave in the morning, then. I have other business to take care of in Riften, anyway.” Kajsa stood, setting her soup bowl with the spoon in it on her seat, and strode off through the doorway which she entered from.

 

“Kajsa?” Babette tentatively poked her head into the chamber.

“For an assassin, you’re terrible at sneaking,” the Listener commented, not unkindly, without looking up from buckling on a worn set of leather armor, rife with straps and pouches.

The vampire grinned. “I honestly prefer a head-on approach.” She inched into the room a little more. “Are you... leaving?”

“Yes.” Kajsa sat on the steps to the stone platform in the center, grabbed a pair of boots, and tugged them on; a set of gauntlets soon followed.

“But I thought you told Nazir that you would go in the morning!”

“I _did_ tell him that.” From the dais beside her, the Listener grabbed Mehrunes’ Razor and buckled it onto her belt with a sort of grim ferocity.

“Kajsa... what’s wrong?” Babette asked softly, timidly.

“Why would you think that?” Kajsa said darkly, standing up and pacing over to a wooden table with only three legs; the fourth leg was propped up by a stack of leather-bound books. “What has Cicero been telling you?”

“Lots. That you didn’t speak to anyone. That you didn’t eat. That you had nightmares...”

Pausing in the process of picking up a demonic-looking mace with one hand and a dark, elegant sword with an elaborate hilt in the other, the Listener glanced over at her sharply, a flicker of vulnerability in her hard eyes.

The vampire gulped, but pressed on. “ _Please_ tell me what’s bothering you. And – and – if it’s something I did, I’m sorry.”

Kajsa laughed quietly, putting the weapons back down on the table and retrieved a two-handed katana with a glowing red blade. “It’s not your fault, Babette. Just mine.”

“Well... what is it?” the other asked, now fairly relieved of her guilt.

“It’s a long story.” Sheathing the sword on her back, the Listener picked up a craggy black longbow and a gray quiver full of arrows. “If you’d like, you can come to Riften with me and I’ll answer what questions you have.”

“But I haven’t fed in a while!” Babette protested. “I’ll burn up in the sunlight!”

Kajsa flashed her a devious smile. “Which is why we’ll travel by night.”

 


	4. The Road to Riften

Shadowmere was much faster than Babette had expected. As soon as Kajsa had swung up behind her and into the saddle, the black stallion had shot off, galloping up the unused path and clattering onto the road. As she was not in a habit of riding horses, the vampire has been startled – even a little fearful at some points – but she was forced to content herself with the supposition that the Listener knew how to ride a horse.

Even in the few short hours of nighttime that they had left, the three of them had traveled a long way. By the time the sun threatened to peep out from behind the snow-capped mountains, Shadowmere was already tethered outside a small cavern near Fort Dunstad and the two assassins were inside.

Waiting for the daylight to die was almost too much for Babette. Here in the mossy, wet cave in which they had camped out, there was almost nothing for her to do that would keep her mind adequately occupied except pepper her companion with questions.

“So... who’s Delvin Mallory?” As best she could, the vampire crossed her legs and tried to get comfortable on her bedroll. “I’ve heard Astrid mention him before, but...” She stopped mid-sentence; thinking about Astrid still hurt too much.

Kajsa, her armor now concealed by a black hooded robe, stopped in the middle of digging out an apple from the food sack she’d brought along. “Do you want a professional description or something more informal?”

“Both, I guess.”

The Listener took a bite out of her apple, chewed, and swallowed before responding. “Professionally, he’s a prominent Thieves Guild fence, but he only deals in high-stakes, high-end goods. Thanks to his extensive network of contacts, it’s safe to assume that he knows most of what goes on in Skyrim, maybe even all of Tamriel.”

“Are you a contact of his?”

“Not exactly. I work with him,” Kajsa corrected through a mouthful of apple. “In fact, I’m probably his biggest supplier.”

The statement didn’t fully sink in at first. Then: “You’re with the Thieves Guild?”

“I love how you sound so surprised at that,” the Listener said, slightly amused. “Yes, I’m a thief. Yes, I’m a member of the Guild. Actually, I’m slated to become the next Guildmaster, but that’ll have to wait until we fully regain our footing in Skyrim.”

“How – how did you get mixed up with them?” Babette asked, still gaping. “I’m not condemning you or anything... I’m just curious.”

Kajsa sighed, melancholy returning to her eyes. “It’s... a long story.”

“Can you condense it?” the vampire questioned eagerly.

“I suppose,” Kajsa mused, tapping her fingers against what was left of the apple. After a few moments of thought, she faced her companion again. “The short version is this: I returned to Skyrim, and I headed to Riften to see if some friends of mine had made it there. They hadn’t, but I ran into Brynjolf – again – and ended up doing a few jobs for him. He put in a good word for me with the former Guildmaster, and I joined the Thieves Guild.”

Brow furrowed, the little girl considered the story for a moment. “It sounds like you left a lot of details out.” _Important details? Details that were painful to recall?_

“I did,” the other confessed, shrugging. “But I _did_ say it was short.”

“Do you mind if I ask a few questions?” Babette ventured. “About your story?”

The Listener paused. “Depends on the questions.”

 _She doesn’t like to talk about this at all... but why?_ “Who’s this ‘Brynjolf’ person? And why did you run into him ‘again’?”

“Professionally, he’s a high-ranking member of the Guild, unofficially the Guildmaster’s second-in-command. He poses as a merchant during the day and sells phony elixirs and potions. Informally, he’s perhaps the most genial, smooth-talking thief you’ll ever meet in your life – and my oldest friend.” It might have been just the vampire’s imagination, but Kajsa’s face seemed a little pained as she continued. “He knew my mother as well. That’s how I was acquainted with him.”

The vampire vaguely remembered her mentioning her mother when she and the Listener had first met. “Your mother was with the Guild as well?”

“For a short time. Rozenna – my mother – was an accomplished pickpocket, and she used her skills to support our family.”

Babette, sensing she was heading into a sensitive zone, quickly moved on to her next question. “What happened to the previous Guildmaster?”

“Mercer?” Kajsa let out a short, humorless laugh. “Rotting in Oblivion. Deserved it, too.” She threw her apple core to one side and tucked herself into her bedroll. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to get some sleep before we head out again.”

The vampire remained in her place, tossing the questions she had left around in her mind and pondering if Kajsa would even dignify any of them with a straight answer.

 

As soon as night fell, the two of them packed up, mounted Shadowmere, and galloped off down the road again. Knowing that daylight would be many hours away yet, Babette felt considerably more at ease as the black stallion thundered down the road.

This time, they were able to travel significantly farther. About half-way through their ride, the little girl glimpsed the imposing stone walls of Windhelm and realized how far they had gone. It might have been just her imagination, but it seemed to her that Kajsa urged Shadowmere on even faster than before, leaving the startled guards scattered around the city stables in a mist of kicked-up snow.

They spent the daytime – or what passed for it, as there was a fierce thunderstorm overhead – in a crumbling watchtower perched on the junction of the White and Black Rivers. This time, the Listener tugged Shadowmere inside, despite his snorts of protest at the indignity of it all. Currently, the horse was tethered to a weapons rack on the wall, while Kajsa was piling up some wood she’d found inside into an already-burrowed hollow in the floor.

“Are you building a fire?” Babette asked fearfully.

The Listener smiled reassuringly at her, a welcome change from yesterday’s secretive demeanor. “Just to warm up some potatoes.”

“All right.” The vampire still eyed the stacked wood cautiously.

Rubbing her palms together, Kajsa spread them as a scanty, but bright flame hovered above her hands. As Babette watched warily, the Listener directed the fire at the pile of wood in a smooth gout. The wood caught alight and was soon crackling merrily.

“You use destruction magic... to start cooking fires?” Babette giggled. _Festus would have rather chopped both his hands off than demean his talents to that._

“Always have, always will.” Fetching a rusting copper pot from a ramshackle shelf nearby, Kajsa popped two potatoes in it from her food sack and hung it on the spit. “Despite what my father said to the contrary, it’s much harder starting them by hand.”

Seeing her companion utilize magic reminded the vampire of the boulders in the Falkreath Sanctuary that Kajsa had mysteriously split apart. “Do you know lots of spells? Like – like ones for moving heavy things?”

The Listener rocked back on her heels. “Are you referring to my clearing the stairway to the Night Mother’s chambers with the _thu’um_?”

“Uh... what’s a ‘ _thu’um_ ’?”

“Not as well-read as I’d perceived, hmm?” The Nord woman smiled slightly.

Babette groaned. “You have no idea how many times I feel I’ve heard that.”

“I was only joking. The knowledge isn’t exactly commonplace.” Kajsa planted her palms on the floor behind her and leaned back casually, lips pursed as if considering what to say. “A _thu’um_ is another name for a dragon Shout: phrases of the dragons’ language that have physical effects.”

“Wait, _wait._ If they’re called ‘dragon Shouts,’ how come you’re able to use them? Shouldn’t _dragons_ –” The vampire stopped suddenly as the truth dawned on her... and a strange memory of hers became all the more clear.

_The wall had always been there. Formed in a semi-circular shape, the black stone covered in strange, claw-like runes, it didn’t quite fit in the spacious main cavern of the Sanctuary. It was something primeval, long before any of their times, even Babette’s... perhaps even before the Dark Brotherhood itself._

_No one quite knew what the markings meant. Once, armed with a mountain of books on codes and ancient languages, she and Festus had attempted to decipher them. Eventually, the rogue mage just threw up his hands in defeat and walked off. It wasn’t long afterwards before the vampire followed his lead, declaring it a waste of time._

_But Kajsa seemed to know what they were._

_As Babette had watched from the shadow of an entryway, after the other members of the Family were asleep or out on contracts, the new recruit silently stepped up to the strange wall. Much to the vampire’s surprise, a set of runes carved into the stone was suddenly glowing with a strange blue light._

_Almost immediately after Kajsa placed her palms on either side of the markings, the light flew from the wall and surrounded her with radiant wisps, swirling around her form and seeping into her. Breathless, the vampire waited until the light faded away and Kajsa had slumped to the floor, gasping for breath, before she slipped away into the darkness._

Babette gaped at her companion. “You – you’re the _Dragonborn_?”

Almost reluctantly, the Listener nodded.

The vampire frowned in concentration. “That... _kind of_ make sense... and it doesn’t...”

“I know, I know,” Kajsa said tiredly, bringing one hand up and running it through her wind-tangled hair. “I must have heard it all a million times. Why would a legendary heroine not use the Voice that she was born with? Why would she join the Thieves Guild and the Dark Brotherhood and profane the legacy of the Dragonborn? Why has she become a Daedric champion over and over?” She sighed angrily. “Inane questions, the lot of them.”

“I’m sorry,” the vampire murmured. “I didn’t mean to make you mad.”

“I know you didn’t.” The Listener’s voice was quieter now, almost calm. “It’s just – just a sore subject.” Retrieving the pot from the cooking spit, she dumped out the hot potatoes on her bedroll.

“If it makes you feel any better, you’re a heroine to me,” Babette offered. “You avenged our Family and kept us together. I’ve been with the Brotherhood so long, I... I can’t even begin to imagine what my life would have been like without it.”

Bringing out Mehrunes’ Razor, the Listener sliced one of the potatoes in half and started eating. “What if you _did_ begin to wonder?”

The vampire thought for a few moments. “I’d probably be dead for good. Burnt up or slain. Or maybe I’d still be here. I guess I’ll never know for sure.” She adjusted her cross-legged position on her bedroll. “If I had never been bitten, I _know_ I’d be dead by now, but I have no idea what my life would have been like.”

For a long time, neither of them said anything. Shadowmere pawed against the floor, and outside, rain drummed on the roof and the rumbling of distant thunder could be heard. After cleaning and sheathing her dagger, Kajsa finished the first potato and moved onto the next one, finally washing it down with a bottle of mead to polish off her meager meal.

Then the vampire hesitantly piped up. “You know when you’re looking back on your life, and you can see all of these events? I think of them as turning points... when you had a choice to make and it determined the rest of your life.” She paused for a moment. “My life’s sort of lacking them. I can’t really remember _all_ of the decisions I’ve made in over three hundred years.”

“My life’s full of them,” the Listener said simply, almost inaudibly.

“Do you ever... think about them? Wonder how you would have turned out if things had been different?”

“All the time.” Kajsa’s face was full of sorrow as she met Babette’s gaze. “More so in recent days.”

“ _That’s_ why you’ve been acting so strangely?” the vampire gasped.

The Listener shrugged heavily. “I suppose so. There’s just been... a lot on my mind. I’ve had a lot to think about lately, and not all of it is pleasant.”

“Do you think you’re approaching another turning point?”

“I don’t think it. I _know_ it. In my heart, I can feel it coming. Even though I don’t know what it’ll be, I know it’s going to be a hard choice to make.” With that, Kajsa burrowed into her bedroll, her back to the vampire.

Babette made no move to stop her. She only sat and wondered about all her many, unanswered questions. It seemed as though every time she learned about Kajsa, the more inexplicable things appeared.

For the first time, she doubted that her sister was exactly who she appeared to be.

 


	5. Underground

The Ragged Flagon was like no other bar Babette had ever seen in her life. For starters, it was located in Riften’s Ratway: a twisting underground maze of damp stone, chock-full of skeevers and crazed beggars. The Flagon itself was located in one room of a massive cistern with a rounded ceiling supported by stone archways, and it sat on the far edge of a pool of sewer water. Walkways of wood led to it, and a sort of dock, supported by ropes and timbers, jutted out into the dark, filthy waters. Aside from the circular skylight over the pool, the only light came from braziers standing on stilt-like logs and a single chandelier across the cistern.

Overall, Babette would have been more awed had it not been for the pervasive, unpleasant smell of fish.

Kajsa, leaving her black hooded robe bundled in her knapsack to reveal her distinctive Guild leathers now that she was under the city, closed the studded door behind them. “Just follow my lead. These people may not kill you, especially not if you’re with me, but they can hold a grudge for a terribly long time.”

The vampire nodded quickly. Satisfied with her answer, the Listener strode off around the stone walkway and up the ramp to the main part of the bar, Babette following close behind.

Even though it appeared small at first, the Ragged Flagon was actually somewhat spacious. There were a few tables with plain chairs scattered around the bar; the latter was illuminated by a huge stone fireplace flickering from behind. Looking to her left, Babette could see that there were more tables and chairs out on the dock-like structure. Stacks of barrels and crates were all around, an indicator that the bar was not entirely what it appeared to be.

Much to the vampire’s surprise, there weren’t as many people as she thought there would be. With the exception of the rail-thin bartender sweeping up around the counter and the scowling, burly bouncer by the sign, there were only three other patrons and all of them were clad in armor similar to Kajsa’s. _Are these_ all _the members of the Thieves Guild?_

At a circular table by a dirty rug that could have been yellow at one point, a short, slightly paunchy Breton man sat, drinking contentedly out of his tankard. He was completely bald, but he sported a sparse, close-shaven blonde mustache and goatee.

“Delvin!” the Listener called out to him.

The man’s head snapped up and he smiled. “Well, well, well. If it ain’t our lovely soon-to-be Guildmaster. Pull up a seat an’ ‘ave a drink.” He gestured to the chair across from him.

“I’d love to, Del, but I’m on a business call.” Kajsa seated herself gracefully.

“Ah, of course.” Delvin sobered slightly. “I ‘eard ‘bout what ‘appened in Falkreath. Shame, that. You the only one who’s still alive?”

“No. There’s myself, Nazir, Cicero, and Babette here.” The Listener patted the still-standing vampire on the shoulder. “Babette, this is Delvin Mallory, ‘expert obtainer of goods’ and master of sneaking. Del, this is Babette, Dark Brotherhood assassin.”

“Charmed. Didn’t realize you were recruitin’ them so young,” Delvin joked.

Babette smiled, now revealing her fangs. “I’m more mature than I appear.”

If Delvin was surprised, he hid it well. “You can draw up a chair, too. Drinkin’ is optional, but I’d rather ya not leech off anyone; Vekel’s touchy ‘bout that kind of thing.” He turned back to the Listener. “Now, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Repairing and refitting the Dawnstar Sanctuary.” Kajsa leaned in. “Can you do it?”

“ _That_ where you lot are ‘olin’ up in now? Hmm...” Delvin stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Tell ya what. It’ll cost you – a little less considerin’ you’re part of the outfit, but still quite a bit – but I’ll ‘elp you.”

The Listener smiled gratefully. “Thank you, Del.”

“Anythin’ for our future Guildmaster.” From one side of the table, Delvin slid over a well-worn ledger, an inkwell, and a quill. He flipped the leather-bound book open to a new page and prepared to write. “So, what exactly are we talkin’ ‘bout ‘ere?”

“Well, let’s see.” She drummed her fingers on the table and then stopped abruptly. “New banners, for starters. I’d rather have those stone walls covered, try and keep what heat we get.”

“When you’re that far up north, I don’t blame you.” He made a note in his ledger. “That’ll be a thousand septims.”

Babette, having dragged a chair over and seated herself in it, gaped at the price.

Delvin chuckled at her reaction. “This kind of stuff that your friend is askin’ after don’t come cheap, you know. Has to be... _procured_ somewhere.”

Kajsa merely shrugged, pulling out a bulging coin purse from her knapsack and letting it drop on the table. “I think this will be enough to cover _all_ of the costs. How much were you planning on charging me, Del?”

He did a few calculations on his fingers. “Roughly... nineteen thousand, give or take. Got the coin to pay me – or will we ‘ave to do some ‘agglin’?”

“Of _course_ I have enough.” Loosening the purse-strings, she extracted a handful of coins and tucked them into a pouch on her armor. “There. That should do it. I’d honestly love to bicker and dither over the price, but I don’t have the time.”

Now it was Delvin’s turn to gape. “Do I even _want_ to ask ‘ow you came by all this?”

“I wouldn’t,” the Listener casually advised. “Money is money. And this –” she tapped the coin purse “– is a _lot_ of money.”

“A woman after my own ‘eart,” Delvin sighed dramatically. “You speak my language so well, darlin’.”

“Just don’t let Vex hear you say that.”

“Unfortunately, I doubt she’d care.” Delvin drew the coin purse a little closer to him. “Just tell me what ya want, an’ I’ll get my people on it right away.”

“An alchemy lab,” Babette piped up suddenly. “And some seed packets.”

Delvin glanced over at the little girl. “Alchemist, are you? Imagine that’ll come in ‘andy in your profession, eh?” He scratched something in his ledger again. “What’s your fancy?”

“Deathbell, nightshade, and canis root,” the vampire rattled off immediately. “Giant lichen, swamp fungal pods, and imp stool, too. And if you could get some chaurus eggs, that would be wonderful.”

“Consider it done. Any other ingredients?”

Babette was nearly bouncing up and down in her seat with excitement. “Falmer ears, vampire dust, river betties, and human flesh _if_ you can manage it. And while you’re at it, could you obtain some lotus extract as well?”

“All right, all right. Calm yourself, now. It’ll all be taken care of.” Delvin turned back to Kajsa. “Back to you, my dear. What else do you need?”

“Well...” Kajsa pursed her lips. “I’m sure that Cicero would love to have that torture chamber renovated...”

“Now, _that’s_ the Dark Brotherhood I know and love,” Delvin chortled. “This for business or pleasure?”

Kajsa’s eyes narrowed. Babette gulped.

Delvin didn’t press any further. “Aw, what’s it matter, right?” he said quickly. “I’ll see that it gets done.”

“Good,” Kajsa said dryly. “There’s also the bedrooms, as well as my quarters, to furnish.”

“Chamber fit for a queen and all that, right? No problem.” The quill in his hand was furiously scribbling notations across the page. “Give ya a big bed, decorate the room real nice... maybe even throw in a few extra baubles.”

“One last thing. Can your people excavate a secret entrance? After what happened in Falkreath, I’d like to be better-hidden.”

“Yeah, no problem. We can do that,” Delvin replied without hesitation. “What do you say to a sewer grate on the outskirts of Dawnstar? Leads to a tunnel, then inside. You’ll be in or out, quick as a coney.” He finally finished writing and laid his quill down. “That it?”

“I believe so.” Kajsa rose from her seat. “How soon can this be done?”

“I’ll send out word tonight.” Delvin rubbed his forehead. “Everything should be shipped and reachin’ you in a week or less. Of course, this is a _very_ ‘igh-priority job, so I’ll be layin’ the whip across their backs to get it done – figuratively speakin’, of course. Tunnel might take a bit, but everything’ else should be up and runnin’ soon enough.”

“Excellent.” She shook his proffered hand. “I can always count on you, Del.”

“Oh, you flatterer, you,” Delvin chuckled. “Now ‘urry on up and become Guildmaster. We’re all lookin’ forward to it down ‘ere. Been a while since we ‘ad somethin’ to celebrate.”

“Patience, Del. I’m a busy woman.” The Listener pushed in her chair, the legs scraping against the stone floor. “Before Babette and I return to Dawnstar, there _is_ one more thing that I’d like to ask about.”

“What’s on your mind?”

Kajsa planted her hands on the table and leaned over it. “I’m looking for a man named Esbern. He’s a Nord in his late seventies, and I believe he’s in Riften.”

“Little old for you, ain’t ‘e?” Delvin teased.

“Very funny, Del. His life’s in danger, and I have to find him before it’s too late.” One glance at her face told Babette that Kajsa was deathly serious.

Apparently, Delvin had observed similarly. “No need to get riled up, now. I think I know where you can find ‘im. Oi, Vekel!” he yelled over to the bartender. “Come over ‘ere a sec!”

Vekel, a Nord with pale brown hair and stubble, hurried over with his broom still in his hands. “How many times do I have to tell you, Mallory: if you want more mead, pick up your lazy ass and get it yourself!”

“Oh, put a sock in it,” Delvin dismissed. “This ain’t about _that_. Our soon-to-be Guildmaster’s got a question for you. Wants to know where to find some old man.”

“Esbern?” When Kajsa nodded, the bartender continued. “That must the old man I know of. He’s holed up in the Ratway Warrens. Hardly ever leaves the place – has someone bring him food and such.” He snorted. “Crazy old coot, from what I’ve heard. For that to stand out down there, he must really be off his nut.”

“Thank you, Vekel.” The Listener brushed past the table, leaving the confused, still-seated Delvin and Babette behind.

“Be careful. You’re not the only one looking for him.”

Kajsa paused, her back stiffening. “Who else has come through the Flagon?” she asked, her voice soft, but menacing.

“Dangerous-looking elves who didn’t give their names. Draw your own conclusions.”

“ _Shit!_ ” the Listener spat. Mehrunes’ Razor was out at her side in an instant.

“Easy there,” Delvin cautioned. “Maybe you’d mind givin’ an explanation –?”

“No time to talk now, Del.” Kajsa whipped back around, addressing a worried Babette. “Stay here. I’ll be back soon enough.”

With that, the Listener turned on her heel and stalked over to a door in the shadows of a back storage closet. A creak of hinges and a slamming of wood on stone, accompanied by muttered curses that made the vampire turn pale, indicated that she had gone into the Warrens.

 


	6. Things Better Left Unsaid

Leaning back in his chair, Delvin sighed resignedly. “An’ there she goes again. Ever noticed that your friend don’t do much by ‘alf?”

“Pardon?” Babette was still rooted in her seat and staring at the shadowy door to the Warrens, the fury in Kajsa’s eyes burned into her mind.

“She’s thorough – takes care of it _all._ I give ‘er a business ledger to make changes to, she comes back with the contents of the strongbox as well. ‘Course, it also means once she’s made up ‘er mind about somethin’, there’s no changin’ it.” Delvin shrugged. “It’s an often-maddenin’ trait that’s been common in all of our Guildmasters.”

“How many have you known? Guildmasters, I mean.”

“Three, if you count Kajsa. ‘Fore her, there was Mercer, an’ even before that, Gallus.” He laughed suddenly. “Funny... they’ve all been very much alike, now that I think ‘bout it.”

 _There’s that name again: Mercer._ “How do you mean?”

“Brilliant thieves, for starters. Smart as tacks, cunning as foxes. Mercurial, too. Prideful at best, dreadfully arrogant at worst. Cross ‘em, an’ it’d be your life on the line. But Mercer was the only bad apple of the bunch.”

“Why?” Intrigued, the vampire wriggled a little bit closer to the table, resting one elbow on a stack of loose notes.

“Betrayed the Guild, that’s why.” The genial tone of Delvin’s voice was gone, replaced by hard condemnation. “Stole everythin’ out of our vaults, murdered Gallus an’ framed one of our own for it, an’ made an attempt on Kajsa’s life. Bastard got what he deserved in the end.”

“What was that?” Babette asked eagerly, morbid curiosity kicking in.

“Kajsa killed ‘im. With the exception of Karliah, she probably ‘ated ‘im more than anyone else here, so I can’t imagine it was a quick, painless end.” He shuddered at the thought. “No wonder our girl fell in with the Brotherhood. Got a murderous streak a league wide that’s only rivaled by her lack of scruples – no offense.”

“None taken,” the vampire said hesitantly. “But Kajsa isn’t as bad as you make her out to be. She’s got honor. She does the right thing.” _She might have killed Astrid, but.. she saved my Family._

Delvin chuckled. “You mistake my words. I got nothin’ but respect for our lovely future Guildmaster, but she ain’t a ‘eroine.”

Babette was reminded uncomfortably of her last conversation with Kajsa. “You know her really well, right? My sister, I mean.”

“‘Know’ is fairly subjective. She’s a secretive one, ‘specially when it comes to her past. But I ‘know’ a fair bit ‘bout ‘er.”

“So do you know what’s going on with her?”

“Nah. No idea why, after not settin’ a foot in the place since that whole Motierre business, she’s ‘ere lookin’ for some crazy coot in the Warrens. Assassination, maybe?” Delvin shrugged again. “It’s been a while since I associated with the Brotherhood on a daily basis.”

Restraining herself from mentioning that Kajsa was the Listener and therefore would probably hand off any contracts from the Night Mother to one of the other members of the Family in order to keep herself open to receive the Unholy Matron’s orders, the vampire settled for another question. “How long has Kajsa been with the Thieves Guild?”

“Oh, several months now.”

Babette’s jaw nearly dropped. “And she’s going to be in charge of it soon?”

“Your ‘sister’ showed her face in Riften at a rather critical time. ‘Round then, things ‘appened like a stack of books fallin’ over on each other – right after the other in the blink of an eye. She just ‘appened to be caught in the middle of it... but now, she’s comin’ out on top.”

The vampire frowned for a moment, trying to work some things out in her mind. “Was that when your previous Guildmaster betrayed the Guild?”

“More or less. It’s a long an’ complicated story, an’ I doubt I know all of it. There’s probably only four people who do, an’ one of them’s dead... ‘cause that would be Mercer.”

“Who are the other three? Kajsa and who else?”

“Brynjolf an’ Karliah, most likely. Karliah’s not exactly the straightforward type; I’m convinced the whole Dunmer race talks like they’re deliverin’ prophecy or a speech for the ages every time they open their mouths.” He snorted slightly. “Now, Bryn’d probably open up to ya about the whole thing; ‘e’s just a chatty kind of guy. Not to mention ‘e could probably tell ya _volumes_ more about Kajsa than I ever could.”

“But you’re here right now, so that’s why I asked you,” Babette persisted. “What do _you_ know about Kajsa?”

Delvin glanced at her with a roguish smile on his face. “And ‘ere I was beginnin’ to think that you Dark Brotherhood types knew everything about your ‘siblings.’ Must ‘ave changed since I last ‘ung around them.” He lowered his voice a little. “But I’m curious: why all the interest in ‘er past?”

 _I don’t know if she is who I thought she was. I don’t know if the Kajsa I know is real._ “My reasons are my own,” the vampire said stubbornly. “I’m only asking you to answer a few questions. What’s the harm?”

Delvin’s eyes darted around the Ragged Flagon, and then back to her, his face serious. “Listen, Babette: you seem like a sweet thing, well-intentioned an’ all, but there are some things that should just be left alone. The only reason you’d ask Kajsa ‘bout ‘er past is if you ‘ad a death wish.”

“She _wouldn’t_ kill you or me,” the vampire wheedled. “Please, Delvin? Pretty please?”

“All right, all right,” the other finally conceded, throwing his hands up in a show of defeat. “But if she sneaks up behind us an’ demands to know what’s goin’ on, it was your idea.”

Not displaying her triumphant grin, Babette shrugged before leaning over the table again and dropping her voice. “So... I remember Kajsa saying that her mother was in the Guild –”

“Ah, yes... Rozenna. Feisty little Breton with a flamin’ ‘ead of ‘air to match her temper and personality.” Delvin chuckled fondly. “One of the best pickpockets I’ve ever met. Lust for life only surpassed by ‘er love for ‘er man an’ kid.”

“It must have been hard for everyone to learn of her death,” the vampire mused.

“Aye. That it was,” he agreed sadly. “Olav – the ‘usband – left Riften with Kajsa immediately after that. We ‘adn’t ‘eard from the girl for over a decade ‘til she showed up a couple of months ago.”

“Did Kajsa grow up in Riften, then?” Unsurprisingly, it was easy for the vampire to imagine a younger Kajsa spending her childhood there.

“Not ‘er whole life. Family just settled here for a few years. Roz said they’d been wanderin’ Skyrim for a bit before then, but I didn’t ask why.”

“Were they poor?”

Delvin shrugged. “Well, they weren’t well-off, but they weren’t beggin’ for charity either; Roz saw to that. Walked right into the Flagon an’ demanded to join the Guild so she could support ‘er family. ‘Bout knocked everyone out of their seats with astonishment, myself included.” He chortled at the memory. “It wasn’t long ‘fore we met little Kajsa. Probably ten years old at the time, but already raising Oblivion.”

“What was she like back then?”

“Tall for her age an’ skinny as a rail – slightly homely, too – an’ a little terror sneakin’ around with those tiny iron daggers of ‘ers, but we all loved ‘er anyway. Spoiled rotten by her parents, but she didn’t act it.” Delvin smiled fondly. “Roz was practically trainin’ ‘er to become a thief. Every time I saw ‘er in the Flagon, she always ‘ad Kajsa with ‘er.”

“What about her father?” Babette ventured cautiously.

“Didn’t know ‘im too well. Only met ‘im a few times an’ the last time, it was when ‘e was leaving Riften with Kajsa.” Delvin’s face fell slightly.

“Why?”

“Blamed the Guild for ‘is wife’s death. Roz an’ ‘e were ‘ead-over-‘eels in love, an’ it devastated ‘im when she died. After that, I guess ‘e saw no reason to stay in a town that was dominated by the very people ‘e ‘ated: the Thieves Guild.”

“But... his _wife_ was in the Guild...” The vampire’s brow furrowed again. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I got the sense that Olav would do anythin’ for ‘is wife. Willin’ to follow ‘er anywhere, even to the Guild. The man was a Nord to the core, ‘onor an’ all, an’ ‘e only tolerated Rozenna’s thievin’ because she told ‘im it was the only way that they could survive.” Delvin shrugged. “In any case, grief does strange things to people.”

The vampire opened her mouth to say something, but she was cut off by the sound of a slamming door. Whipping her head around to see if it was Kajsa, she was slightly crestfallen and even more worried to see that it was not the door to the Ratway that had closed.

From the back room, two people dressed in the same black Guild leathers that Delvin Mallory wore strolled out. One was a broad-shouldered, handsome Nord man with a prominent chin and red hair. The other was a tiny, cross-looking Imperial woman with a ghastly pallor and a pinched face.

“ _Never_ make me go with you to deliver the yearly report again, Brynjolf,” the woman was saying. “A pissed Maven? I can deal with that. A condescending Maven? No problem. But a _happy_ Maven?” She shuddered. “Downright unnatural.”

The man, whose name was apparently Brynjolf, merely smiled. “I suppose I’ll have to add that to the short list of things you’re frightened of, Vex – right underneath ‘Delvin Mallory’s affections.’”

“Somebody mention me?” Delvin leaned back in his chair to get a look at the newcomers. “Ah, you’re back. Seein’ as you’re both still in one piece, I take it that your boring little meeting with the boss lady went well.”

“Perhaps the best we’ve had in a few decades,” Brynjolf agreed, seating himself at the round table. “Maven was a little disappointed that Kajsa wasn’t with us, but she still seemed pleased... about as close as someone like her can get to grinning from ear to ear.”

“You just missed her. Our soon-to-be Guildmaster was here not five minutes ago before she made a foray into the Ratway Warrens.”

Vex snorted. “Well, she better not get herself killed down there. I have a stack of unfinished jobs with her name written all over them.” Her eyes drifted over to Babette and one pale eyebrow arched. “Robbing the cradle, Del?”

The vampire smiled, displaying her fangs. “If that were the case, it would be the other way around. I think I’m a little old for him.”

Turning even whiter than before, Vex beat a hasty retreat over to the bar.

Brynjolf laughed quietly. “Take it easy on Vex, lass. One more shock of that magnitude and her pallor will _not_ be the result of years of sun deprivation.”

“Sorry.” The vampire flashed a winsome grin at him, displaying dimples. “It’s just kind of fun to do that. I haven’t been able to properly scare anyone for some time, and now I’ve gotten to do it twice in one day.”

“Please tell me she’s not a new recruit,” Brynjolf said jokingly to Delvin.

“Nope. Brotherhood assassin. Came in with Kajsa.”

The other man whistled in surprise. “Our Guildmaster’s part of _that_ outfit? If Maven was happy before, she’ll practically be bouncing up and down with glee now – gods knows she’s as much a patron of the Brotherhood as she is of the Guild.” He turned to Babette and, with an exaggerated gentlemanly grace, brought her tiny fingers to his lips and kissed them. “Brynjolf. And your name is –?”

Babette giggled impishly. “Babette. And I think I’m a little old for you as well.”

“Lovely to make your acquaintance, lass.” He returned her smile before it twisted into a puzzled frown. “Why is Kajsa down in the Warrens?”

“Well, ain’t that the million-septim question?” Delvin said wryly. “Said she was lookin’ for that coot Esbern. Apparently, he’s been quite popular lately.”

“Elaborate on that, Del.”

“Vekel said – an’ I quote – ‘dangerous-looking elves who didn’t give their names’ ‘ad come through earlier. Kajsa was calm up until ‘e mentioned that; after that, she ‘ad ‘er dagger out an’ was ready to shank some poor bastards.”

Brynjolf grimaced. “No wonder. If those elves were who I think they were, there’s going to be a bloodbath down there.”

“Who did you think they were?” the two Bretons chorused.

“Thalmor.”

The vampire’s eyes widened. “The Thalmor? Why would they – Kajsa – does she –”

“– hate them?” Brynjolf finished. “With a fiery passion that eclipses the heat of the Alik’r Desert. I get the sense that the Dominion feels the same way about her.”

“Why?”

Brynjolf shrugged. “I don’t know why, lass, and judging from the expression on her face when they’re mentioned, I don’t want to find out.”

Babette’s fingers begin to twist around each other in wringing motions. “But – but shouldn’t we – try to help her? The Thalmor are dangerous mages; she could die!”

“I’m amazed that you have such little faith in your sister, Babette.”

Three heads turned around at the dry voice. Kajsa, a grim satisfaction apparent on her face, stood behind Delvin’s chair, cleaning Mehrunes’ Razor with a now-bloodstained bar rag. An older Nord man in a simple belted shirt and trousers stood beside her, a bulging knapsack on his back and a stack of tomes under one arm.

“Kajsa!” The vampire practically flew out of her chair to hug the other assassin.

The Listener hastily returned the gesture before sheathing her dagger and sidling around the table, addressing Delvin and tossing the bar rug to one corner as she went. “Thank you again, Del, for your help in acquiring certain items.”

“Lass,” Brynjolf started, raising a finger, “Maven needs to see you. Now.”

“She can wait,” Kajsa dismissed, striding off down the ramp and around the stagnant pool of water with Babette and the elderly man ( _presumably Esbern,_ the little girl assumed) in tow. “I’ve got important things to do.”

“She ain’t goin’ be ‘appy when she ‘ears that you’ve blown ‘er off!” Delvin hollered warningly. “An’ that’s puttin’ it _mildly!_ ”

Kajsa sighed as she opened the door to the Ratway and ushered Esbern through it. “Maven’s going to have to accept sooner or later that I’m a busy woman, same as her.”

“Kajsa,” Babette whispered, “what’s going on?”

The Listener crouched down and placed both of her hands on the vampire’s shoulders, looking her straight in the eyes. “I’m sorry, but I can’t explain right now. I need to see Esbern safely to Riverwood. Are you able to get back to the Sanctuary by yourself?”

“I’ll need Shadowmere, but –”

“Take him. He’s in the stables outside the city, but I’d recommend waiting in the Flagon until the sun has set.” She pressed a small bag of coins into the vampire’s hand and straightened up. “When you return, tell Nazir that everything’s been taken care of and that I may not be able to return for a while. I’ll write when I can. Look for my letters in the hunk of driftwood by the Black Door.”

Before Babette could open her mouth, Kajsa had slipped through the door into the Ratway and closed it behind her.

 


	7. Turning Points

Babette ended up taking Kajsa’s advice. She returned to the Ragged Flagon and asked if she could stay there for the rest of the day. The pale Imperial thief, Vex, objected at that, but one look from Brynjolf made her think twice about her complaints. He and Delvin were welcoming enough, but the vampire’s mind was dwelling on things that worried her more than how hospitable the Thieves Guild was, and she spoke sparingly.

Come nightfall, Babette stole out of Riften and retrieved an impatient Shadowmere from the stables without paying for his board. Clambering on top of a stack of barrels to scramble into the saddle, she and the black stallion set off at an unsteady gallop down the road. At the rate they were going, Babette only had to stop once to wait out the daylight: at a small mine populated with a handful of bandits that made excellent meals for her.

All the while, her mind was on Kajsa. Where she had gone... what she was doing... if she was still alive...

 _Of_ course _she’s still alive,_ the vampire chided herself frequently. _Kajsa’s the Dragonborn –_ and _the Listener_ _–_ and _the future Guildmaster of the Thieves Guild! She’s a survivor; she’ll be all right._

But even after she finally returned to and settled in at the Dawnstar Sanctuary, even after weeks and weeks of waiting, Kajsa did not appear. Once or twice, Nazir retrieved letters – the only proof that the Listener was still alive – from the hollowed-out hunk of driftwood by the Black Door (their makeshift drop box) and posted the contracts detailed in them on sheets of parchment slapped up on the wall of the main dining hall. The short list of names and information on the targets was all the letters contained; as far as Babette knew, her sister did not include any information about her location or what she was doing.

With a few notable exceptions, things remained quiet in the world of the Dark Brotherhood. A week or two after the little girl’s return, a small team of people in Guild leathers and bearing a note of authorization from Delvin Mallory hauled in several huge crates of furniture and supplies. While the thieves disguised themselves as mine workers and busied themselves with digging the secret entrance (as well as installing an elaborate stained-glass window depicting Sithis in the dining hall to disguise the opening to the tunnel), the three remaining Brotherhood assassins unpacked everything that Kajsa had bought and put it in place, cleaning up the Sanctuary as they went. Babette took great delight in assembling the alchemy lab, as well as planting her purchased seeds in a small, square patch of earth on the balcony.

The other notable excitement concerned the new recruits that Nazir had managed to track down from Astrid’s notes on them. One was Yusef Messala, a handsome, broad-chested Redguard with a close-cropped beard; his reserved, philosophical manner reminded the vampire of Gabriella, though his proficiency with swordsmanship was not unlike Nazir’s. Along with him came Finverior, a wiry, rakish Bosmer who was unsurprisingly unparalleled at archery, but surprisingly proficient in Restoration magic. And then there were the Khajiit siblings – the wild twins, Dar’Anxo and Dar’Esti, and their older, graver sister, Berezhi – all of whom could cut with either claws or twin daggers.

All had been inducted roughly a week after the renovations on the Sanctuary and moved in immediately afterwards. Through conversations in between the sprinkling of contracts from Kajsa that kept everyone busy, Babette managed to extract some stories out of them.

With the exception of Yusef, whose sister and aunt had been affiliated with the Brotherhood before the fall of the Wayrest and Bravil Sanctuaries, all others were new to the Brotherhood and its ways, but not to crime. Following a dishonorable discharge during the Great War, Finverior had dabbled in every single area of crime Cyrodiil and High Rock had to offer, primarily skooma production and trafficking; the Khajiit, on the other hand, had grown up in a caravan traveling throughout Tamriel, and then turned to banditry and murder. While Yusef and Finverior had parted ways for a time – the former, to join the Skyrim Thieves Guild, and the latter, to study at the College of Winterhold (and aid his uncle in some smuggling operations on the side) – both were eager to work together once again, and in the Brotherhood, no less. And though Dar’Anxo and Dar’Esti freely admitted that their primary motivation for joining was the money, Berezhi had told Babette in confidence that they were more glad to have steady work; pickings were slim with dragons haunting the roads.

While the vampire still felt that they could never replace her fallen brothers and sisters, she liked the new recruits enormously, and so did Cicero. Nazir only cared that they performed their contracts well and honored the Family – which all five did to the letter.

And as the days and weeks dragged by, Kajsa did not return.

 

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Babette, curled up under the covers of her bed with a thick, dog-eared book open on her lap, straightened up at the sound of the deep voice drifting from the chamber down the hall. _Nazir. But... who is he talking to?_

A heavy sigh. “Do you disapprove of my actions?”

 _Kajsa!_ The vampire’s heart leaped. _She’s finally back!_

Nazir chuckled tiredly. “I’d be a fool to command the Listener. I just don’t understand what would possess you to abandon your Family.”

Suppressing a gasp, suddenly alert, the vampire untangled herself from her blankets. Leaving her book open on the messy bedspread, she tiptoed out of her room and crouched in the flickering hallway shadows just outside. From her position, she couldn’t see anything in the Listener’s bedroom, but she could hear everything.

“I’m _not_ abandoning the Dark Brotherhood, Nazir.” Kajsa’s frigid voice held an edge to it. “That _isn’t_ an option for someone of my position.”

“Stendarr’s mercy, woman, I wasn’t accusing you of neglecting your duties!” The Redguard’s frustrated voice softened. “But why?”

“That is personal.”

There was silence for a few moments. Babette stayed very still, fearing that she might have been caught eavesdropping.

Nazir let out his breath resignedly. “Very well. I do not approve of your choice, but you are the Listener and I will respect your decision.”

A sigh. “Thank you, Nazir.”

“You will remain in touch? Come back every once in a while?”

“Of course. You know where to find my letters and what to expect. Between the five of you, I think there will be plenty of contracts to keep you all out of mischief.”

“‘Mischief’?” Nazir’s quoted word dripped with feigned innocence.

“You know perfectly well what I mean. Just keep the Family in line – last time I checked, you _are_ supposed to be in charge when I’m absent – and everything else will fall into place.”

The Redguard laughed. “Oh, I’ll miss you, Kajsa.”

“I know. I will as well.” Her voice grew soft with sorrow. “Leave me to my sleep. I’ll be gone before sunrise.”

“As you wish, Listener.”

Babette shrank back into her hiding place as Nazir strode past. Once he had disappeared down the corridor, she crept out cautiously and snuck in the opposite direction into the Listener’s private chambers.

Kajsa was leaning over her newly-repaired table of weapons, scrutinizing them carefully, but she looked up as she heard her fellow assassin approach. “I should have known you’d been eavesdropping, Babette.”

“Bad habits are hard to break if they’ve persisted for three hundred years.” The vampire glanced around the wide, low-ceilinged room, taking in the folded stack of various leather armors and the partially stuffed knapsack resting on the bed. “So... are you... really...”

“Leaving?” The Listener gathered up her craggy black longbow and the Ebony Blade from the table, strapping them both on her back along with a quiver full of arrows. “Yes.”

The vampire couldn’t contain her raging emotions any longer. “ _Why?_ ” she burst out, her bright crimson eyes welling up with tears. “Everything’s just getting back to normal now! You _can’t_ leave us, sister! You can’t!”

“If you heard my conversation with Nazir, you know that I’m not abandoning the Dark Brotherhood. I’m still your sister, and I’m still the Listener.” She picked up the pile of armors and forced them into her knapsack, fastening the bag shut.

“Then what in Oblivion are you doing?” Babette cried.

Kajsa turned around slightly and sat on the end of the bed, motioning for the other to join her. Tentatively, sullenly, the vampire crossed the floor and plopped down on the stairs that led up to the stone dais.

The Listener folded her hands, resting them on her knees. “Do you remember once of our conversations that took place when we traveled to Riften all those months ago? How we talked about ‘turning points’?”

“Vaguely,” Babette answered, her tantrum more or less under control now. “You said something about one of your own that was coming up... is this it?”

“Yes. I’ve thought long and hard about it before making my decision, and I think it’s one that I’ll be able to live with.”

“To run off like this?” Babette instantly regretted her bitter words.

Much to her relief, Kajsa smiled, albeit half-heartedly. “No. I’m going to return to Whiterun and join the Companions.”

“The Companions?” the vampire breathed, caught between shock and awe. “Jorrvaskr? Ysgramor and the Five Hundred? _Those_ Companions?”

“What other Companions are there? Yes, _those_ Companions.”

Babette’s brow furrowed again. “But _why?_ Why now? Why them? I don’t understand why you’re doing this.”

The Listener sighed and melancholy showed in her dark eyes. “While we were in Riften, Delvin told you about my parents, correct?”

“How – how did you know – ?”

“I know you too well, Babette; it only made sense for me to ask him. Don’t worry: old Del’s still in one piece and I’m not angry with you.” She leaned back slightly, pursing her lips with thought. “It’ll save me a lot of time explaining things, anyway.

“When I first returned to Skyrim after six years, there were many... _circumstances_ that pushed me into going back into my mother’s – and my – old line of work. One of them was the revelation that I was the Dragonborn.

“At the time, I wasn’t prepared to deal with that, and _that_ is a huge understatement on my part. So I did what I thought was best: I ignored the summons of the Greybeards and traveled to Riften to – hopefully – meet up with some friends of mine. They were my last hope... and they weren’t there.”

“So you joined the Thieves Guild,” Babette finished.

Kajsa nodded. “My life with them was good for a time. I could travel Skyrim as widely as I used to, as well as making a profit while doing so. I made a few friends. Some rivals, too. And an enemy: Mercer Frey.

“When he ‘murdered’ me and branded me a traitor to the Guild, I was furious – not only with him, but with the Guild members who believed his lies. The Thieves Guild had become my new family, and unlike Mercer, I would never stab them in the back... figuratively speaking.” She let out a short, humorless laugh. “There are not many things I disapprove of wholeheartedly, but betrayal tops the list. Long story short, I killed him.”

The vampire raised her hand to ask a question. “I know how you joined the Dark Brotherhood, but how did you work up to that?”

“When a ten-year-old boy has escaped from Honorhall Orphanage and is performing the Black Sacrament, it’s the kind of news that gets around,” the Listener said dryly. “I was investigating the rumor, and Aventus mistook me for one of you and gave me the contract. I didn’t correct him because I knew of Grelod the Kind – I _did_ spend a few years of my childhood in Riften, after all – and honestly, I was more than happy to kill her.

“Then I wake up in an abandoned shack in the middle of the marshes... and I meet Astrid for the first time. She gave me the option of joining the Dark Brotherhood and I accepted. At that point, I had grudgingly gone to High Hrothgar and listened to what the Greybeards had to say, but being Dragonborn was the farthest thing from my mind. I wanted to start over in an organization that hopefully wouldn’t betray me like Mercer had.

“And then the Night Mother arrived, and not long after that, the Unholy Matron spoke to me for the first time. I was the Listener – and much like being the Dragonborn, I couldn’t change that. It was my destiny, and in the Dark Brotherhood, it was one that I had to live with. That was the first time I realized that... that I _had_ to do what I was born to do.

“When the Falkreath Sanctuary was put to the sword and it was revealed that Astrid had sold us out to keep herself in power, I was distraught. Unlike Mercer, I had trusted Astrid; in such a short time, she had become a close friend.

“But I had no time for tears. I had to kill the Emperor and infiltrate the Thalmor Embassy to find out what they knew about the dragons – in the same trip. It was quite the chore, but I got both jobs done. And then there was another, larger task ahead of me: to rebuild the Dark Brotherhood. It was a lot to take in; I _had_ to be alone for a time.

“In that time, as well as in the time since I left with Esbern for Riverwood, I did a lot of thinking. Thinking about my past, about the choices I’ve made, what I want my future to be like... preparing myself for this decision. It was the second time that I came to the realization that I had to do what I was born to do. I’ve embraced the role of Listener, but not that of the Dragonborn. And that’s going to have to change.”

“So _that’s_ why you’re going to join the Companions?” the vampire asked, still trying to make sense of all that her sister was saying. “To learn how to become a better warrior so you can face your destiny?”

“That’s part of it. Another part is that it’s been a long time since I spent time around mercenaries – _too_ long. I spent six years of my life as a sellsword, and those were the best six years of my life. I may be a thief and an assassin, but I’m also a warrior... like my father.” She sighed. “I’ve followed my mother’s path for about as far as I can go. It’s finally time for me to honor my father and the Nordic values that he stood for, no matter how hard it may be for me to fully embrace them.”

There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment. Kajsa stood up, slinging one of the straps of her knapsack over one shoulder.

Impulsively, Babette hugged her fiercely. “Promise you’ll visit sometime?”

“I promise.” The Listener gave her a little smile. “I’m still a part of this Family, you know. Whether I’m here or in the farthest, wildest reaches of Skyrim, I’m still a child of Sithis.”

“I’ll miss you,” the vampire whispered sadly, her voice choking. “The new recruits are nice, but you’ll always be my sister.”

“Which is why I’m giving you something to remember me by.” The Nord woman pointed over at the sturdy wooden bookshelf by her bedside. “See all those books?”

Untangling herself from Kajsa, the vampire wandered over, tilting her head sideways to read some of the spines:

_Annals of the Dragonguard_

_Boethiah’s Proving_

_The Dreamstride_

_Herbalist’s Guide to Skyrim_

_Mythic Dawn Commentaries, Volumes I-IV_

_Nightingales: Fact or Fiction?_

_The Rise and Fall of the Blades_

“Tomes I’ve picked up during my travels,” the Listener explained. “Some of them are quite rare. While I’m gone, you have my permission to borrow any of these for your reading, providing you put them back on the shelf in my room.”

Babette grinned widely. “Thank you. Thank you, Kajsa.”

“Anything for my sister.” Kajsa reached over and tousled the vampire’s hair before striding to the doorway. “Oh, and by the way... if I find any interesting alchemical ingredients, I’ll package them up and send them with my letters. How does that sound?”

“Wonderful!” The vampire’s smile spread, animating her whole face. “You know, if it means I can have access to all these books and ingredients, I could get used to not having you here all of the time.”

Kajsa laughed. “Oh, Babette. I’m going to miss you.” She raised a hand in farewell. “Hail Sithis.”

Babette nodded with a slight lump in her throat as she watched the Listener turn around and vanish down the stone hallway, effortlessly blending into the shadows like she was one of them. _I’ll miss you more._

_Come back soon, Kajsa. Hurry home to your Family..._

_... and try to stay alive._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my readers -- I appreciate every single one of you. I'll be back soon enough with the repost of my full-length _Skyrim_ fanfic, _The Bear and the Wolf._


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